Candy
by Connie Welsh
Summary: There's a reason Sam get's on Dean's case about what he eats. Even if the pig-headed idiot doesn't want to hear it. (Day 2 of the 13 Days of Halloween Fic Writing Challenge)


**A/N:** I seem to like to use Sam's guilt-tripping capabilities against Dean. Sorry Dean, but it's for your own good.

It was no secret to anyone who spent any decent amount of time with Dean that he had a sweet tooth.

Chocolate- and all it's wonderful variations thereof- was his favorite. Give him a stack of Reeses Peanut Butter Cups and he was content as a cat with cream. M&Ms were a close second, and don't even get him started on Snickers.

So, naturally, along with the awful horror movies that ran on TV with a vengeance, candy was one of the top reasons why Dean enjoyed Halloween. (It's past aggravations aside.)

Which was why having Sam throwing him disapproving glances every five seconds while he was trying to enjoy the big "party bag" of Halloween candy he had scored at the grocery store was starting to annoy him.

"You gonna quit acting like an old catholic school nun sometime soon?" Dean asked, unwrapping a mini kit-kat and breaking it in half as he watched _Cornfield Massacre_ contently.

Sam just sighed heavily from behind his laptop, shaking his head, and Dean looked up from the shaky, running-through-the-cornfield shot in the movie to raise his eyebrows at him.

"Seriously, what's your problem, man?" Dean insisted, "You're sitting there acting like girl who got snubbed at the prom or something."

Sam scowled, huffing irritatedly before finally spitting it out, "Do you have to eat the _whole_ bag, Dean? Really?"

Dean groaned in annoyance, thumping his head back against sofa, "Jesus Christ, Sam, seriously?"

"Yes, seriously!" Sam snapped, glaring, "You're not a little kid anymore, Dean, you should be-"

"Exactly, I'm _not_ a little kid anymore, which means I can eat whatever the hell I feel like without input from anybody, especially my kid brother," Dean cut in tersely, tired of their same old arguments, "Just leave it alone, Sam, Jesus."

Sam huffed angrily, looking away from Dean with a scowl and Dean turned his attention back to his movie just as grumpily, where Tara Benchley was screaming as blood dripped down her face.

There was a few minutes of stony silence after that, minus the sound of the tv and the crinkle of candy wrappers as Dean ate a Three Musketeers and a Snickers in short order.

Finally Sam stood with a heavy sigh through his nose, and Dean gave a muffled "Hey!" through the chocolate in his mouth as his brother came over and snatched up the remote, turning the TV off.

He chewed hurriedly as he tried to take it back without dumping the bag of candy on the floor, but Sam just tossed it on the table before sitting next to Dean and putting a strong hand on Dean's bicep.

Dean swallowed as he tried to get up, glaring at Sam, "What the hell, Sam?"

"Listen to me," Sam said seriously, tightening his hold on Dean's arm, and Dean frowned, "I know you hate when I get on your case about this-"

"Then don't."

"_But_," Sam insisted, "do you have any clue why I do it?"

"Because you like being a pain in the ass?" Dean offered, and Sam sighed with annoyance.

"Because you are all I have," he said seriously, "and I know you're convinced that we're not going to live long enough for it to be an issue, but if we do, I really don't want to spend our elder years worrying about your blood sugar levels because you have diabetes or waiting outside a surgery room because you've had a heart attack. I'm not saying you can't eat junk, Dean, just... go easy. Moderation, you know?"

Sam was giving him his patented, pleading puppy look, and Dean grimaced. He _hated_ that look, it made him feel like an asshole if he didn't do what Sam wanted, which was an insanely unfair advantage.

"I'm still not eating your rabbit food all the time," Dean finally grumbled, looking away from Sam's face and folding the top of the candy bag down to toss it aside.

Sam breathed a small laugh, and his grip loosened, "I'm determined to find something healthy that you'll like, you know."

"Pft, good luck," Dean challenged, glancing back at Sam, who was giving him a sweet grin, "Alright, alright, get off me, I'm trying to watch a movie here."

Sam released his arm and Dean retrieved the remote from the table, clicking the horror movie back on just in time to see Tara Benchley butchered by a chainsaw.

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean's enthusiastic whoop, getting up off the sofa to leave Dean to enjoy his gore-fest.


End file.
